Chapter 6 - The Ultimatum
The penthouse was too quiet when they returned.
Serena slipped off her heels by the door, her toes aching. Damian poured himself a drink without a word, the cut-glass tumbler clinking softly. The tension in the room stretched taut, heavy with Vivian’s earlier warning.
“Your grandfather knows?” Serena asked finally.
Damian’s jaw tightened. “He knows everything, sooner or later.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It isn’t.” He downed the whiskey in one swallow, setting the glass aside. His eyes found hers, sharp and unyielding. “Graham Wolfe is not a man you cross lightly.”
Before Serena could reply, the penthouse elevator chimed.
She froze. Damian turned, every line of his body sharpening.
The doors slid open, and an old man stepped out.
Graham Wolfe moved with the slow precision of someone who didn’t need speed to command fear. His silver hair gleamed under the lights, his tailored suit impeccable, his cane clicking against the marble floor though he didn’t lean on it. His eyes—icy, piercing blue—missed nothing.
“Grandfather,” Damian said evenly.
“Damian.” Graham’s gaze swept the room before settling on Serena. His lips curved in a smile that wasn’t a smile. “And the young woman causing such a stir.”
Serena’s throat went dry.
“Serena Hayes,” Damian introduced.
“I know,” Graham said smoothly. “I make it my business to know everything about anyone attached to this family. A waitress turned artist, caring for her sick mother. Desperate enough to sign a contract.”
Serena stiffened. “You—”
“Don’t look so shocked, my dear. The world is built on contracts. Some are simply written in ink; others in blood.”
Damian’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “Why are you here?”
Graham’s eyes glittered. “To deliver a warning. And an ultimatum.”
They sat in the vast living room, Graham in a leather armchair like a king on his throne, Damian standing behind Serena’s chair as though shielding her.
“I’ve spent decades building Wolfe Enterprises,” Graham began, his tone calm, controlled. “And I’ll be damned if I watch it unravel because my grandson can’t control his impulses.”
“This isn’t about impulses,” Damian said flatly.
“On the contrary. You’ve dragged some girl from the gutter and paraded her before the press as your fiancée. Do you think investors don’t see desperation when it stares them in the face?”
Serena’s fingers clenched together in her lap. Every word felt like a lash.
“With respect, Mr. Wolfe,” she said quietly, “you don’t know me.”
Graham leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “I know enough. You want money. My grandson wants freedom. It’s a transaction, nothing more. The problem is—transactions end.”
“Unless they’re made permanent,” Damian said.
Serena turned, startled, but Damian’s face was unreadable.
Graham’s lips twitched. “At least you’re not completely blind. Yes. If you want my blessing—if you want Wolfe Enterprises to remain in your hands—you will not play games. You will marry her. For real.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Serena’s heart slammed against her ribs. “What?”
“You heard me,” Graham said. “A public wedding. Vows, rings, the whole farce. Anything less, and the board will tear you apart.”
Damian’s voice was ice. “You would force my hand like this?”
“I would protect my legacy,” Graham snapped. Then, softer: “The question is whether you have the strength to do the same.”
Serena pushed back her chair, standing. “This is insane. I never agreed to—”
“You agreed to play fiancée,” Graham cut in. “Now you’ll play wife. Or you’ll watch your arrangement collapse. And Damian—” His eyes locked on his grandson, sharp as steel. “If she runs, she won’t be the only one ruined. You’ll lose everything.”
The weight of his words hung heavy in the air.
When Graham finally left, his cane clicking softly as the elevator swallowed him whole, Serena turned on Damian.
“Did you know?” Her voice trembled, equal parts fury and disbelief.
“No.” His reply was sharp, immediate.
“But you didn’t even argue,” she shot back. “You just stood there—”
“What would you have me do?” Damian demanded. “Defy him? Hand my company over to vultures? Graham doesn’t bluff, Serena. If he says marry, then marry is the only option.”
Her stomach twisted. “So what—you expect me to just… go along with this? Be your wife like it’s nothing?”
His jaw clenched. For a moment, something raw flickered in his eyes—fear, maybe, or something darker. But it vanished too quickly.
“This is bigger than either of us,” he said finally. “You knew what you were stepping into.”
“I didn’t sign up for vows!” she snapped.
The silence that followed was brutal.
Damian’s gaze locked with hers, and for the first time, he looked less like the untouchable billionaire and more like a man caught in a trap.
“I’ll find a way,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “One way or another.”
But Serena wasn’t sure if his promise was to protect her—
Or to protect himself.
Later that night, long after Damian had retreated to his study, Serena sat in the guest room, staring at the ring on her finger. The diamond glittered cruelly, like a shackle made of light.
Her phone buzzed. A message.
Unknown Number: If you want out, I can help. –N.C.
Her breath caught. Nathaniel Crane.
The screen glowed in her hand, temptation pulsing with every beat of her heart.
She turned toward the closed door of Damian’s study, where shadows pooled beneath the crack of light.
What would happen if she replied?
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.



















































